


the man who rules;

by kinneyb



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 11:14:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19811137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: Satan is a terrifying man; just ask his most frequent visitor, Crowley.





	the man who rules;

**Author's Note:**

> this is weird but i saw hot fan art of crowley/satan n this happened... but of course aziracrow endgame
> 
> here's the art mwah: https://twitter.com/overh0l/status/1145379343289311232
> 
> follow me on twitter @ queermight & check out my pinned tweet!

Crowley always knew when it was going to happen. It wasn’t exactly a sign, but a feeling. Felt kind of like boiling water being pumped through his veins. Not exactly painful (maybe because he was a demon), but uncomfortable. Today was no exception. One second he was hitting comfortably with all his plants for company and the next he was in a dark, warm room.

He knew this place as well; had only been there a handful of times, though. Satan didn’t have visitors very often. And when he did? It usually wasn’t for anything _good_. Crowley swallowed around the lump in his throat, curling his hands together behind his back.

“Sir?”

The room turned warmer. The sound of footsteps and, then, a handsome face. Satan, in his truest form, was - and from Crowley’s understanding had been since the beginning of time - handsome. Gorgeous, really. He commanded attention with just a look; dark eyes, dark hair, dark skin. Everything was dark, and beautiful.

Crowley tried not to shiver. “Sir?” he repeated quietly.

“I am disappointed in you, Crowley,” he responded, voice echoing.

He smiled nervously. “Did I do something, sir?”

“It’s not what you did,” Satan continued breezily as he stepped closer, looking Crowley up and down like a lion admiring its prey, “it’s what you _didn’t_ do.”

Crowley gulped. “Oh?”

“You have been slacking lately,” Satan clicked his tongue - a surprisingly human habit, really. “You haven’t been bringing many humans over to our side.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why is that?”

Crowley shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Uh. I’ve been —” he couldn’t think of an excuse, and Satan always had a way of knowing when he - or any of the other demons - were lying, so. “I’ve been busy?” he squeaked lamely, hands dropping to his side.

“Crowley, Crowley,” he hummed in disapproval, circling the demon slowly. “What could be more important than keeping me happy?”

He couldn’t very well tell him anything about Aziraphale, so— “I’ve been traveling?”

Satan halted to a stop in front of him, somehow still looking as graceful as ever. Some humans only thought of angels as graceful—they’d be very wrong. He raised both eyebrows. “And you think your own personal interests overpower your loyalty to me?” he asked, icily calm.

Crowley opened his mouth, closed it. He shook his head firmly.

In the flash of an eye, Satan had Crowley’s chin in his grip, squeezing lightly. “I want a real answer, demon,” he said lowly.

Crowley shuddered, and he could see the way Satan’s eyes sparkled in amusement. He _loved_ this. “I’m sorry, sir,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact. He stared at Satan’s chest, naked as always. The guy really hated shirts, apparently, but pants were fine. Weird. “No.”

“I do not get joy out of hurting you, Crowley,” he said, squeezing his chin tighter. Crowley started to taste something coppery. _Liar_. “But you cannot keep betraying me this way or I will have no choice.” Satan grinned like a shark, loosening his grip and stroking his thumb across Crowley’s cheek. “Understand?”

Crowley’s nose twitched. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Satan reached up and buried his fingers in Crowley’s long, auburn hair. “Good boy,” he continued, tugging his hair once before pulling away. “Now, go. I hope I won’t be seeing you again for a while.”

When Crowley opened his eyes again, he was standing in his room. A few of the plants were dead, hanging limply. He sniffed loudly.

++

Crowley should’ve known better, but after a few weeks he fell off again. He was still tempting people, sure, but at disappointingly low numbers. And only when he was really, _really_ bored (so, when Aziraphale was busy or, worse, reading books).

So it wasn’t surprising when one night he closed his eyes and opened them to the same dark room, quiet as ever. He stiffened, hands curling into fists. He looked around, trying to catch sight of Satan, but before he could he was thrown back violently.

He hit the floor with a gasp, sitting up quickly. “Sir, I—“

He was cut off with a kick to the face. Crowley fell back to the floor and slowly lifted himself back up with a whimper, touching his bottom lip gingerly. It was wet, and stung.

“I’m sorry, sir, I really—”

Satan crouched, and finally in the dim light Crowley could see his face. He was furious. He snatched Crowley up by the hair. “You _disappoint_ me, Crowley,” he snarled in his face. “I thought I could trust you to know your place.”

Crowley swallowed thickly, staring up into Satan’s gleaming red eyes, no longer dark. “Sir—“

Satan kicked him in the jaw before he could finish, sending him flying back down to the floor. Crowley gasped, something was pouring out of his nose - blood, he knew. He shuddered as he slowly lifted himself back up. 

“No,” Satan said before he got very far. “Stay.”

Crowley nodded, peering up at him through wet eyelashes. He wasn’t a crier, truly, but even demons had their limits. And the pain Satan inflicted was _nothing_ like the stuff a demon experienced on earth.

“Go on,” Satan continued, pushing his foot - claws and all - in his face. 

The corner of Crowley’s mouth twitched. He knew better than to disobey, especially after all this. Taking a short, sharp breath, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the top of his foot. 

“Speak,” he said, like commanding a dog.

Crowley pulled back just enough to say, “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.” Satan tipped his foot up, pressing his claws against Crowley’s neck lightly. He gulped. “I’ll do - I’ll _be_ better, I swear.”

“Good,” Satan praised, eerily soft. He moved his foot away and clapped his hands together. “Now, what are you doing down there? Get up.”

Crowley closed his eyes, collecting himself. Finally, he stood up on wobbly legs. Satan touched his arm, steadying him. 

“You were good,” he praised again, running his hand up and down Crowley’s arm slowly. “Continue to be good, and we won’t have a problem again.” He dug his claws into the flesh of his arm. “Understand?”

He knew there was only one right answer. “Yes, sir.”

Satan hummed thoughtfully. “Good.” He cupped Crowley’s face. “Now, go.” 

++

When he opened his eyes again, he was in front of Aziraphale’s shop. Weird, but appreciated. He opened the door (using a small miracle to unlock it) and entered. Aziraphale appeared not even two seconds later, holding a small cup of tea. He blinked at his appearance.

“Crowley, your face,” he said, placing the cup down and rushing to his side. “How - how did this happen? You’re not healing?”

He smiled ruefully. “ _He_ visited me again.”

Aziraphale gently touched his arm. “Oh, my dear,” he said softly. “Follow me.”

He led them to the back, and they both sat on the couch. Aziraphale, as per usual, pulled him into his lap. Crowley settled, closing his eyes. “I have to stop fucking up,” he said, barely a whisper. “I can’t keep doing this, angel.”

Aziraphale ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “I know, darling.”

“But at least I always have you for comfort after,” he continued, even softer. He opened his eyes just a slither. Aziraphale was smiling, sweet and honest.

He leaned down and pressed their noses together, “and you always will.”


End file.
